


When the Leaves Change

by lettersfromzedelghem



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 09:32:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettersfromzedelghem/pseuds/lettersfromzedelghem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for a holiday challenge on Tumblr in 2012 in which we were limited to 300 words and given the prompt of leaves changing colors. I'm simply posting it here now that I have an account.</p><p>Disclaimer: The characters herein do not belong to me. I claim only ownership of this work.</p>
    </blockquote>





	When the Leaves Change

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a holiday challenge on Tumblr in 2012 in which we were limited to 300 words and given the prompt of leaves changing colors. I'm simply posting it here now that I have an account.
> 
> Disclaimer: The characters herein do not belong to me. I claim only ownership of this work.

The air on Eames’s skin, in his lungs with every breath, is cold. Biting and shocking, but pleasant enough in its own respect – something you miss when you spend years in sweltering foreign lands. He tightens his hold on the thick paper of the to-go coffee cup from the corner cafe a few blocks away and revels in the heat soaking into his palms and fingertips.

“He loves when the leaves change.” A softer warmth brings the words to Eames, against his ear, and he turns until his gaze is upon Arthur’s. The pallor of his face is tinged pink on the apples of his cheeks, and Eames briefly has a mind to pinch the flushed skin and deepen the color. He instead opts for a gentle kiss and tastes caramel and smooth coffee on Arthur’s lips.

When Arthur breaks away and moves around Eames to walk down the small paved pathway that winds and dips with the park’s landscape, Eames looks ahead to his lover’s destination. Their son, only three now, is gathering a bag of leaves to press into a book that he started last autumn. The boy has just fished one off the surface of a rain puddle, and while he seems pleased with the crimson prize, Arthur’s wrinkled nose speaks volumes.

And so Eames leaps, or saunters, into action. He goes to kneel beside the boy and meets his grin enthusiastically, motioning for the leaf to be handed over. The delicate curl of the child’s hand in Eames’s own scarred fingers makes his chest ache as he pats the leaf dry with the fabric of his scarf.

“Here we are, little one,” Eames murmurs tenderly, and plants a kiss onto the boy’s ruddy red cheek. His son laughs delightedly.

Eames loves when the leaves change too.


End file.
